


Maybe One Day

by WardenCommander



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardenCommander/pseuds/WardenCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self-hating Shepard is forced to become the hero she never wanted to be.</p>
<p>First fanfic attempt, so we'll see how this goes. </p>
<p>Strays from canon, will run through all three games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe One Day

I’ve been very hesitant about writing my own fanfiction, but have been feeling a little inspired lately, so may as well try…

Hopefully you enjoy.  
-SV

 

# Prologue

 

Pale green eyes slowly opened, snapping shut half a heartbeat later. Sunlight streamed through slatted blinds, and her head pounded louder than a stampede of elcor. Eyes slowly opened again, registering an unfamiliar ceiling above her, and a somewhat lumpy mattress beneath her that definitely was not hers. No clothing, a thin sheet barely covering her, and a sudden wave of nausea that had her clamping a hand firmly over her mouth as she sat up. 

“Bad decisions.” She muttered, swallowing the taste of bile. She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, casting a glace over her shoulder. A man was passed out next to her, his face buried in a pillow. She tried to remember his name. Had she even asked for it?

She bent over the edge of the bed slowly, partially not to wake the stranger, partially out of fear that she would vomit, retrieving her shirt. ‘Too much whiskey,’ she thought to herself as she slowly climbed in to her clothes. 

She vaguely remembered the night. Drinks at some dive bar that was popular with soldiers, which turned in to too many drinks with some soldiers, which turned into going to – a motel? – with who she assumed was a soldier. 

Can’t remember fully how she got there, yet she could vividly remember his hands on her, his tongue, the way his stubble rubbed her thighs raw, not that she had minded. Mostly she remembered not being disappointed, for once. She was certain she had bit him at some point throughout the night, hard enough to hurt for a few days, but that was his problem now. A quick glance around the bland room showed little; a couple water paintings of forest scenery, a knocked over lamp, his clothing scattered about, and a small digital clock showing that it was barely dawn. 

She pulled her boots on, freezing as she felt the man stir, but he ultimately stayed blissfully asleep. Grabbing her jacket, she cast a final glance back at him, heat pooling low in her. As tempted as she was to wake him for another round, she knew questions would follow, and chose to silently slip out the door instead. 

She glanced around, realizing that she was closer to the bar than she thought, meaning she was closer to her quarters than she thought. Closer to the fistful of pain killers she intended on taking, and the bed that was beckoning her. She knew the mandated psychiatrist would disapprove of her actions on her brief shore leave, telling her yet again that she was acting recklessly. She didn’t care. PTSD, the psychiatrist said, a result of watching your whole unit slaughtered. She had a hard time listening to someone who had never seen battle, never had the overpowering copper smell of blood burn their nostrils and make them gag, never had to fight for their life. What made this doctor an expert? 

She stumbled through the door of her assigned apartment, if you could call it that. A small living room led to an even smaller kitchen, where painkillers were swallowed with a mouthful of water, which led to the single bedroom. She flopped onto the bed, regretting it as bile rose in her throat. She groaned, covering her eyes with her forearm. As nauseated as she felt, a small smile spread across her face as she remembered the way the unknown man had felt deep inside her, on top of her, behind her, burying his fingers in her hair and pulling as he took her deeper. She was certain his handprint was burned onto her ass. 

Maybe one day she wouldn’t sneak out before her choice of the night woke up. Maybe one day she would answer those questions that they always asked. What’s your name, what do you do for work, can I have your contact info? Maybe one day she could commit to something more than a fling. 

Maybe one day. But today was not that day. Today she would waste her day sleeping. Tomorrow was not that day, either. Tomorrow, she would pack up the few belongings she had with her, and return to Vila Militar to begin her N2 training. 

But maybe one day.


End file.
